as i begin to leak

A memoir of rusty olives.
hanging like saliva from my forehead.
I am a bizarre lady with a half lit moon.
I have been a lover, a mistress, a daughter.
a tempest swirling from the eye of truth.
Slipping from the gullet of time.

And now, i create a fantasy of hallucinations.An empty bed with an empty mirror.to collect the parenthesis of wishes and words.
a violet mauve touch of my small finger.
these hours are sand of jewels.
perfume stuck to my wrist that clicks plum nectar,

i walk alone now,
like hair swinging wildly in the summer breeze,
untamed, amniotic.
i watch myself o this mirror,
it choked me to death.

I might walk alone tomorrow also,’
while going to the market for my pills
shifting from the vents of miniature delights.

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A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times.
Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied.
My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others.
Curator of Olive Skins.